


Under Cover of Darkness

by ThexInvisiblexGirl



Series: Under Cover of Darkness [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e03 Home, Episode: s08e13 Per Manum, Episode: so1e10 Eve, F/M, Romance, post episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThexInvisiblexGirl/pseuds/ThexInvisiblexGirl
Summary: Some conversations can only be made under cover of darkness. Post episode for Per Manum.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: Under Cover of Darkness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938013
Comments: 15
Kudos: 89





	1. Part I - Mulder

**Author's Note:**

> While I'm one of those who believe M&S' first time was during All Things, in Trust No1 that creepy guy tells Scully about how she "invited Mulder to her bed", implying that this was their first time (at least if you take his words literally), so in a way this piece refers back to that. This was initially meant as a discussion on Eve following the flashbacks in Per Manum, but it sort of wrote itself a bit differently, so there you go.

He wanted to stay with her. Every bone in his body was aching with it; still is. But she didn't ask him to stay, and he didn't think it was his place to offer. It's her grief and she should do with it as she pleases. He's just the unassuming donor, after all. There's absolutely no justification for the deep sadness that threatens to pull him under. It shouldn't hurt so much, but it does. He sits in his apartment in the dark, doesn't even bother to turn on the light as tears spill from his eyes. They don't evolve into sobs or anything extreme; they just fall, and he doesn't stop them. Maybe he shouldn't, but he feels the loss, feels it like a punch. He just lets it consume him, powerless against it.

When the phone rings, it takes a moment for his brain to register the sound, for his arm to reach for the coffee table to grab it. He doesn't know how long it's been, how long he's been sitting here, but he guesses it's her on the other end before she even utters the words _it's me_. He imagines her in her apartment, pacing for a while after he has left, then getting ready for bed, lying there in her dark bedroom. She couldn't sleep, she tells him, then apologizes in a rush as if she thinks she might have woken him up. He hurriedly assures her that she didn't, that he wasn't sleeping. He hopes she cannot hear the remainders of tears in his raspy voice.

They speak for a few moments about nothing in particular. For the most part they sit there in silence, listening to each other's breathing, the rustle of sheets on her end, the squeak of the couch on his, and that is enough. It's the next best thing he can think of, after keeping vigil by her bedside as she sleeps. If this is all she's willing to give him tonight, he'll take it with open arms. He's content to just _be_ with her, without being with her. Sort of like the failed procedure, he muses glumly. They have tried to create a new life together, without actually consummating... whatever this thing between them is.

After another long moment of silence, he hears her somber chuckle. He thought she had fallen asleep, but there she is, pondering into the darkness. Story of his life, that. "What is it?"

Her response is a sleepy hum. "I was just thinking. Maybe we're lucky it didn't work."

For someone whose entire dreams have been hanging on the procedure for the past few weeks, who has quite literally prayed for its success, her words rather shock him. Nonetheless, he knows better than doubt her. She always has her reasons. "How do you mean?"

"I was thinking about the first time we learned about IVF treatments. Remember Sally Kendrick, and the Eves?"

"It has completely slipped my mind," he replies casually; _too_ casually. She picks up on the lie instantly and snorts in what sounds like scorn, a wordless reminder that he cannot fool her. She knows him all too well. "Fine, it _has_ crossed my mind. As soon as you told me you wanted to do it."

"Why haven't you said anything?"

"And crush your spirit by referencing to an old case that was most likely an anomaly? I'm not a monster, Scully."

"No. You're not."

Her voice is soft, her tone undecipherable. As much as he wishes to linger on her reply, to tease her just a teeny bit, he holds back. Tonight is not the time. "It happened years ago. You're a doctor, you know how swiftly these fields evolve."

"I know. I just... can't shake the memory. When we told Cindy's mother that her child is actually an experiment... I'll never forget the look on her face, Mulder." She sounds so sad, lost in the moment. He wishes he could be beside her, pull her into his arms, lay his chin against the top of her head. She sighs heavily. "Imagine putting all your hopes into a child, and then that happens."

"Scully, you don't honestly believe this baby would have grown to be a homicidal maniac."

"No, I don't, but I suppose one never knows. I suppose we'll never know now."

"That's nonsense," he contradicts her, as gently as he dares. Then, before he realizes what he's saying, "Our baby would have been perfect."

He can feel her shock in the tense silence that follows his statement. He's mortified, can hardly believe he's just said it. The ever-present thought has been buried so deeply in his mind that he doesn't know what has possessed him to be out with it, least of all to her.

She doesn't say anything for a long moment, which only increases his distress. When she does, her voice is so quiet he almost misses it. "You would have made a good father, Mulder."

Her words, softly spoken but with determination he knows well, catch him off guard. He clears his throat in an attempt to disguise the swell of emotion they inflict. "I guess I assumed you wouldn't want me involved further than the, umm, technical aspect of things." He's glad she can't see the crimson that suddenly flushes his face.

"I suppose I haven't actually considered it. To be honest, I didn't really think that far ahead just in case it didn't work." She chuckles again, and he knows she means it as wordless affirmation that she's been right to do so. He holds back a protest because he knows she's right. It has been a long shot to begin with; dreaming a future ahead of the present would have inflicted that much more damage. But now he can't help but wonder: in her heart of hearts, did she allow herself to imagine them bringing up a kid together, as did he? Because lord knows, from the moment he has considered going on board with this, his head is filled with everyday scenes involving the two of them and a redheaded girl with bright hazel eyes.

Feeling emboldened by the darkness, by her absence, he asks what he really wants to know, what he's been wondering about almost from day one. "Why did you ask me?"

Her reply doesn't take long to arrive, and only as she speaks he realizes why. "I was too lazy to search for a man with a spotless genetic makeup and a really high tolerance for being second-guessed," she teases huskily.

He remembers that horrific case in Home, how rattled she was by the baby's body. Up until that moment he has never seen her as a mother, way before the cancer and her infertility and all hell breaking loose. While it amuses him that she remembers that exchange so well after all those years, something still doesn't sit right with him.

"Seriously, Scully. Surely you've been given other options; something better and less complicated." He doesn't know why he insists. He feels so privileged, so ridiculously lucky and honored to do this for her, _with_ her. Why does he have to screw this up so completely by pressing her to say something it's highly plausible she isn't ready to say?

There's a pause, and it's long enough to torment him into thinking he has indeed crossed a line. He's about to beat himself up over it and apologize, when she says, "Maybe I don't want something better. Maybe I like a bit of complication."

Her tone is taunting, on the verge of flirtatious; it sends a shiver down his spine. He doesn't hear it often from her; usually it's his forte. He laughs sort of nervously, and struggles to keep his own voice light as he replies, "I think you've been working with me for too long." She doesn't reply with a backfire. In fact, for a moment, she doesn't reply at all. It's a silence he's well-familiar with. "I can feel you thinking," he prods her gently.

"I just..." Her voice trails off; she sighs deeply. "I wish you stayed."

"I wanted to." Again, he's unintentionally candid; he's terrified it will freak her out. "I didn't want to hover."

"I wish you did."

"All you had to do was ask, Scully." If he closes his eyes, he can see it clearly. It takes a while for her tears to dry once they pull away from their hug. He makes them dinner, and they spend the evening in comfortable silence, because he sensed that she's spent and doesn't want to talk about it. When she's ready to go to bed, a look is all he needs to have him follow her. And then, as has become their rather macabre routine in the wake of difficult cases as of late, he holds her through the night, or until she'll order him otherwise.

"Mulder?"

He's so wrapped up in the scenario unfolding in his mind, that the sound of his name spoken softly by her startles him. He blinks; in an instant, he's back in his darkened apartment. Alone on his couch, as ever. "Yes?"

"I'm asking."

The two words resonate, making his heart skip a beat. She's no longer playful. The plea that carries in her voice only means one thing, which in all honesty, he has lost all hope of ever hearing from her. But there's no mistaking it, and it scares the hell out of him. This may ruin everything, or it could be the beginning of something amazing. Either way, there can be only one ending for this night. Which is exactly why he feels the need to question her say one more time. There's no way he's going to mess this up. It's too important. "Are you sure?"

"What, are you afraid it will come between us?" Her tone lightens up ever so slightly as his own words ricochet back at him.

"Aren't you?"

"No." She doesn't even hesitate; he doesn't know why he's so surprised. "I'm done being afraid."

"Scully, you're vulnerable right now. I wouldn't want to..."

"Take advantage?" she completes; he nods even though she cannot see him. "That's sweet, but _I_ asked _you_ over."

"I know, but..."

"I _want_ this," she cuts him off, pleading and yet assertive. "Don't you?"

He actually has to blink into the darkness to make sure this is real. Never in his wildest dreams has he imagined they might have this conversation, that _she_ will initiate it. He isn't entirely sure how it has shifted into that right now, but he doesn't dare breaking the moment. "I do. More than you'll ever know."

"Sounds like we've got nothing to lose."

"Or we've got absolutely everything to lose," he counters stubbornly, wondering how long it will be before she finally gives up on him. And he will have no one but himself to blame.

"Mulder," she says instead, less gently than before; it's almost as if she's chiding him. "This is the worst possible moment to go skeptic on me."

He laughs. He can't help it. She's right; he feels like a loser for faltering, but still, he worries. He has suffered too many losses already; he refuses to lose her as well.

It's like she can somehow read each and every one of his fears in his silence, for she sighs softly with just a hint of exasperation. "Do you want to know why I asked you?" she asks him. He nods, forgetting yet again that she cannot see him. But as if she knows that he has, she speaks on. "I realized there was no one else I wanted to do this with. Because if this is the only way I can have you, so be it."

All those times he has tried to tell her, used bombastic phrases like _constant_ and _touchstone,_ told her she was his one in five billion, that she'd made him a whole person _,_ and still she doesn't know. It's a little frustrating. "Scully... I'm yours. You _know_ that."

"Actually, I don't," she replies gently, with a hint of a smile in her voice. "You're still not here."

And honestly, that's all the conviction he needs. He's already on his feet, looking for his car keys. "I'll be right there."

He tries to leave trepidation behind him as he locks the door to his apartment, then rushes into the night. In a few hours, when dawn breaks, doubts and insecurities may sneak back in. But let them try. Meanwhile, they will find shelter in the depths of the darkness. It is only fair for it to return the favor, after they have sacrificed so much for its sake already. It has kept them safe tonight, diligently collecting each precious secret, each heartfelt confession. Whatever the following day may bring, for now, at last, they're protected, under cover of darkness.


	2. Part II - Scully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you asked me to continue this, and so Part II was born. Thanks so much for your feedback, I really appreciate it :)

She feels herself being pulled from deep sleep, and resists it with all her might, wanting to prolong the embrace of darkness just for a little while. She will give everything to bask in the warmth of her bed, in this certain heat she has grown unaccustomed to, of another body in close proximity. If she's being honest, she's also a little scared to open her eyes and face the new day, the consequences it is bound to bring. Yes, she has made the choice the previous night, has instigated the whole thing even, and gosh, she doesn't regret it for a second. But that doesn't mean she isn't scared shitless of its repercussions.

She lied to him on the phone. She was effing terrified.

She was on the verge of falling apart after he'd left. It felt good to be held and comforted by him, and the moment he was gone, it was as if someone pulled the ground beneath her feet. His absence left her shaken. She felt this loss much more acutely than her failed attempt at motherhood, but it didn't quite register with her, focused as she was on self-pity. In an attempt to pull herself together she strode into her kitchen and poured herself a generous glass of red wine. She took the glass to the bathroom and slowly sipped it as she soaked in a bath. She was also trying a breathing technique Melissa had taught her years ago, one which focused on exhaling away the pain. Back then she had found it absurd. Now it actually seemed to work. She was beginning to feel calmer to the point of near numbness, sorrow and emptiness all reducing to a dull ache at the back of her mind. Afterwards, her body still buzzing from the alcohol and warm water, she lied wide awake in her bed, unable to fall asleep, and so she called him on a whim.

She couldn't entirely blame the wine for their conversation, for initiating the next step in what she'd considered the longest foreplay in existence, but it sure had its share. It loosened her tongue, let out confessions she had kept bottled in for longer than she cared to remember. She spoke with gallantry she didn't necessarily feel, and yet her confidence increased with every word that left her lips. And the fact that he remained a hesitant gentleman throughout her rather blatant advances made her want him all the more.

Nonetheless, as soon as they hung up, and she suddenly realized he was about twenty minutes away, which meant _they_ were about twenty minutes away from the most major crossroad in their partnership as of yet, courage quickly shifted into cold feet. She shot out of bed and straightened the bedspread, then felt ridiculous for doing so. She began to pace nervously around her bedroom. She opened the blinds, then closed them, then opened them again, but only halfway. A whirlwind of questions assaulted her senses. Should she change? Wear makeup? Touch up her hair? She quickly discarded her shapeless pajamas, but didn't go beyond a dark blue silk robe which she wrapped around her nakedness in a haste. What was she expecting to happen, really? That she would let him in and they'd fall into a passionate embrace before he carried her bridal style to her bedroom? Those things only happened in rom-coms, didn't they?

She was relying on that twenty minute drive from his place to hers, timed herself according to it, so when a soft knock came on her door sooner than she'd expected, she was startled. Somehow he'd made it in ten minutes. She tightened the knot of her robe around her waist, suddenly feeling horribly exposed. Well, clearly it was too late to fret about what to wear. She felt ludicrous by this panic that was consuming her. This was Mulder, she just saw him two hours ago. But things were different two hours ago; words had been said since then, secrets had been shared. For all her previous valor, she didn't know if she was able to face him now. There was a huge difference between confessions made under the cover of darkness to the man she'd been in love with for as long as she could remember, and standing face to face with that man, without the darkness to shield her. She was overpowered by second thoughts. She shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have asked him to come over. This was a colossal mistake.

He looked as flustered as she felt as she tore the door open against her better judgment. His eyes were slightly blood-shut as if he had been crying. He smiled faintly, probably in reaction to her wide-eyed expression. "I never drove this fast in my entire life," he explained sheepishly.

She knew she was supposed to crack a smile, at the very least; it sure would have lightened up the atmosphere. However, her attention was diverted by her intent search of his eyes as he took her in. As her distress increased, her confidence plummeted even further. Would he think her wanton for opening the door to him looking like this? Would he consider the way she was practically throwing herself at his feet in her moment of sorrow a cheap ploy? She should have just kept her pajamas on, she frantically berated herself. As if this wasn't enough of a mess.

Seeing that she wasn't making an effort to close the door, he did it himself, then turned to face her again. Without the light coming from the hallway, they were wrapped in darkness again. She hadn't gotten a chance to click on a lamp in her rush to get the door. He ran a hand through his hair, hesitation written in his stance. She wondered if he'd found her speechlessness discouraging. She figured he must have, because the next moment he cleared his throat and looked down at her somberly. "Scully, I... I'm here because you asked me to. I know you said you're sure, but if you changed your mind... I won't take offense. I sure won't hold it against you. You just say the word, and we'll go back to work tomorrow as if nothing's happened."

But they both had already said words that couldn't be unsaid. And holding his gaze, she knew that he knew this, that he was putting on a good act for her sake. She loved him all the more for that. Nonetheless, even if she wanted to, she couldn't back away now. They were in too deep. The decision had already been made. For all her misgivings, there was no turning back.

And so she stepped forward and put her finger on his lips to stop his rambling. She didn't remove it until he nodded, getting the hint. He placed a hand on her waist, the heat of his palm instantly soaking through the thin fabric. The slight touch was enough to make her head spin. His other hand he brought to her face, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers were visibly shaking as he moved to cradle her cheek. She leaned her face into his touch, looking up at him expectantly. "Don't be afraid," he murmured as if he'd seen right through her feigned bravery; to her it sounded like an attempt to allay his own fear, as well.

"Mulder," she murmured in reply, snaking an arm around his neck to pull his face closer. "Just kiss me already."

He chuckled a little; she could feel it against her face as he leaned even closer. Their lips touched briefly, experimentally; it was as if an electric current had passed between them. They pulled away in breathless shock. Glimpsing at his stunned face, she could tell he also felt its intensity. But instead of being a smartass about it like she'd suspected he might, he let go of her face. His fingers fluttered instead along the back of her neck, tickling her heated skin as it fumbled with the collar of her robe.

"What are you doing?" she asked through hooded eyelids, her query a mix of confusion and desire. She just wanted him to kiss her again, and never ever stop.

"Checking for bees," he replied seriously, but with a humorous glint in his eyes.

She let out a sound that was half a smirk, half an impatient huff, before grabbing the front of his jacket to pull him towards her. This time it was more than a simple current. Fireworks, an earthquake, a raging storm; and yet none powerful enough to describe it. Their lips collided and their tongues battled as they shared a kiss after intensifying kiss. As they delved deeper into each kiss they grew emboldened, feeding off each other's fervor. She let her mind empty of anything other than sensation. They only broke apart when the need for air became unbearable. They stared at one another, breathing hard. Neither of them said another word. Their eyes locked with mutual intent, as if agreeing to let their bodies do the talking from now on.

And now, in spite of her resistance, the darkness is no longer. She can feel daylight dancing behind her still shut eyelids, coming through the blinds she has left partly open the night before. There's nowhere to hide. Realizing there's no getting away with it, she slowly opens her eyes. His hazel eyes are the first thing she sees as he lies there watching her. They're lying on their sides, facing one another. He smiles when their eyes meet, this dreamy, boyish smile she's never seen on him. "Hi," she whispers timidly.

"Hi," he replies, his smile widening ever so slightly.

She stretches languidly, letting out a contented hum. "What time is it?"

"Still early," he tells her without taking his eyes off her. His expression is wondrous.

"And why are you staring at me?" she scoffs, feeling self-conscious.

"Because I can," he replies a little smugly, somehow evading the gentle kick she aims towards his shin under the covers. "Also, just in case I wake up soon and realize it's all been another dream, I want to hold on to it for as long as I possibly can." He speaks in earnest, and his expression is pensive; she's shocked to realize he actually fears the possibility. She's itching to know what he means by _another dream_ , but he looks so shy as he says it that she decides to spare him the embarrassment of questioning his statement.

"You never cease to amaze me, Mulder. You'll believe just about anything when it comes to extraterrestrials and global conspiracies, but not this."

"Because believing in flying saucers and little green men sometimes seemed to me far more plausible than this ever happening," he confesses somewhat sheepishly as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, much like he's done the other night. "I've wanted this for a very long time."

Her heart skips a beat at his admission. She takes his hand, slowly lacing their fingers together before bringing their joint hands to her lips. "Me too," she says, hoping to reassure him. Something is obviously on his mind, though, for he searches her eyes carefully.

"Are you okay?"

She knows what he wants to know, and sighs. The wound is still throbbing, wide open. It will be some time before it heals. In the meantime, though, it is shadowed by other emotions she's yet to make sense of. "I'm better. Honestly. I'm glad you came back." It's her turn to smile bashfully at him.

He shrugs, the best he can lying on his side like that. "You asked."

"It sure was a better alternative than crying myself to sleep."

"Better than you expected or better than you hoped?"

For a second she's taken aback, staring at him incredulously, then chuckles when she realizes those are _her_ words, spoken during their very first case in Oregon. "I'll let you know when we get past the easy part," she retorts with a sneer. He grins unabashedly. "Meanwhile, we have to go to work," she adds, groaning reluctantly. She meant to take the day off, not knowing how her doctor's appointment would go. As it happens, now she regrets not doing so, from an entirely different reason.

He looks just as disinclined to go about going to work as he sits up, then leans against the headboard. As he sits there bare-chested with the covers tucked at his waist, he's a surreal sight in itself. "I'll have to go home to change. Which is probably for the best, I will need a really good incentive to leave," he jokes.

She crawls closer and runs her hand through his mess of a hair, then kisses his cheek before laying her head on his chest. Her neck protests against the awkward position, but she doesn't care; the way his heart beats beneath her ear is comforting.

"We can't have any of that at work," she says seriously, glancing up at him. She hates bringing it up, but finds it necessary to set boundaries now before this gets too far. And judging by the way the previous night has unfolded, it _will_ get too far, and fast.

She can tell he wants to crack a joke, but he's obviously aware of the severity of the situation. Even though this has been somewhat of a running gag among their colleagues over the years, there were people at the bureau just waiting for them to make a mistake like this. They will pounce on the opportunity to bring down the X Files if any of this becomes known.

"I know," he says gravely, "I'll be on my best behavior."

His promise makes her eyebrow rise almost by its own accord. "Are you _trying_ to get us caught?" she asks cheekily, and he mock-glares at her before pressing his lips to the crown of her head.

"To be honest, it's not work I'm worried about, it's Frohike. This will break his little heart."

"I know. Years of pinning, and you end up choosing me over him. He'll be devastated."

She's pleased with herself for his momentary dumbfounded expression, but pretty soon he snaps out of it and scowls at her. "You know damn well that's not what meant," he chides her gently. When their eyes meet, his become unusually somber. "It's going to be okay, isn't it?" he asks.

She isn't used to seeing him so uncertain; it's rather endearing. "I don't know," she replies, as honestly as she knows how. "We'll make it okay, I suppose."

He takes a moment to absorb this, then nods his agreement. "That's good enough for me."

When he does leave eventually, they're both reluctant to see him off. They stand on her doorway and kiss for a long moment. Eventually she pulls away with difficulty, only to have his lips press to her neck. "This is ridiculous," she breathes, "We'll see each other in less than two hours."

"Imagine me doing this during our ten o'clock with Skinner," he mumbles against her skin.

"You wouldn't dare," she manages.

"I wouldn't want to get _his_ heart broken."

Before she manages a witty backfire, he takes a step back, finally putting enough distance between them. He places a finger under her chin, lifting it so that their eyes meet. "I'm glad you haven't changed your mind," he says softly. His eyes are speaking volumes. He presses his lips to hers one more time, but pulls away quickly. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

Speechless yet again on the exact same spot where it all started the previous night, she just nods. He grins in reply, then opens the door. He's nearly to the staircase when she snaps out of it, and calls his name. He turns and looks at her inquisitively. "Your place tonight?"

The question seems to catch him off-guard for a moment, but soon he nods, grinning. "It's a date," he tells her, and then he's really gone.

She retreats back into her apartment, which is suddenly empty without him. She gets ready for work, carefully choosing a lacy camisole to wear beneath her severe black suit, sexy yet subtle heels, a slightly redder shade of lipstick. He has promised to behave, but that doesn't mean she's required to play nice. When she's done, she throws a few necessities into an overnight bag so that they won't have to part so early the following morning. She flushes as she thinks of the many ways he might reward her for her ingenuity when she points it out to him later. She shakes her head to send away the mental images, focusing instead on sipping her coffee. She's made it extra strong intentionally, but it's no use. She has hoped that routine will keep her mind on the right track, but of course it's futile. He's all she thinks about; he, and those few precious hours they've shared. The way he smelt and sounded and felt against her, how he touched her – and how much more she's been craving.

She doesn't know what the future holds for them. Just the other day she thought she was indeed carrying his child; hoped against hope, really, in hindsight. In her head she had already envisioned the life they would share, just to have the vision brutally crush mere hours later. And then, out of nowhere, the remains of the broken dream made way to another dream becoming a reality, completely unexpectedly. So one cannot know the future, not really. She can't say she isn't worried, but then again, when isn't she these days? It's just another thing to be wary of; possibly the most important of them all. She knows enough to be certain of one thing, though, and it breaks through her strained expression, turns her frown into a smile. One of many to come, she suspects.

Whatever happens, it's been worth it.


End file.
